


CONDUCTOR OF LIGHT

by Queenoftheuniverse



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, Feeling freakish, Fluff, Gay Stuff, Hippy themes, Invisibility, M/M, Men kissing each other, War, mention of drug use
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-05-21
Updated: 2013-06-24
Packaged: 2017-12-12 12:52:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 12,633
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/811789
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Queenoftheuniverse/pseuds/Queenoftheuniverse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John Watson is the master of disguise. He cannot be seen.</p><p>Sherlock is investigating fraudulent medium practices.</p><p>Greg is a fraudulent medium, owns a crystal shop and talks to his "dead" buddy John Watson.</p><p>Then, after a crystal bee floats into Sherlocks hand...well....it all starts getting wierd.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. ONE

CONDUCTOR OF LIGHT

CHAPTER ONE

My name is John Hamish Watson and until what I call The Thing I was in the army. 

A medic. In Afghanistan. I am...was, no dammit, AM, an adrenalin junkie. Why else would I go to war with a big red "Shoot Here" cross on my arm? To somewhere there were weapons, all sorts of weapons, and insurgents who want to kill whole battalions of humans? Fucking good question.

Yeah well, I wish I had stuck to B.A.S.E jumping to tell you the truth.

My closest friend has always been Greg Lestrade. He owns a crystal healing shop called "A Happy Medium." Or just Happys'. He always was a bit of a hippy and now, well, thanks to me he had a rep as a bit of a healer. In touch with the "other side". A medium. A ghost whisperer...only he kinda shouts enthusiastically.

The "other side" in this case is me.

Nope. Not a ghost. Would perhaps be easier if I was. 

He calls me his Guardian Angel. Seriously. Not that I am it. He is more mine. Weird. Yeah, that's what I am choosing as weird in all this...Jesus!

At school he called me Watto and I called him Shroom. He really liked drugs back then.

The two of us made a strange team. I was a full on football player and he was a laid back peace love and lentil beans dude. We got on well. I think even if we were not the only two Out-Of-The-Closet gay men in high school we would still have been friends. Mostly because he is funny as fuck, and so am I. We were never a romantic team but we were a team none the less.

I always wanted to be a doctor and Greg had always wanted to be a farmer. Then his older brother was killed and he gave up weed like, over night. It was a horrible time for him. He gave up wanting to be a farmer, said he didn't want to see stuff grow and go on when Ben was no longer with us. 

So he bought this store a bit before I left for war with money he got selling off acreage from his family farm. Sat on it a while to study Eastern Beliefs in Tibet or some shit, came back, opened his dream shop.

I went to war, got shot, and came back vastly different. I was scared and I ran to the one place I knew I could be safe.

With Greg.

When I say ran, I mean staggered and huddled and prayed and shit myself, snuck and prayed some more, pissed myself, then did the whole thing again. It took me almost three weeks just to get back to Blighty. I have learned how to manage my condition better since then but in the early days I was fucking hopeless.

So, Greg had a small flat behind the shop and it was at its door I knocked when I finally got home. Well, back to England. I couldn't go home. I had been declared dead. But Greg would understand, he always did. I could not have picked a safer place to hide.

When he answered the door I was stood there in a burka. Covered head to toe like an Strict Muslim lady.

"Shroom!" I cried.

"Watto...I heard you died." Greg said.

"You seem cut up."

"I was devo. Lit a candle. Also, knew you weren't."

"Did your spirit friends tell you that?

"No, you did. Rather, you didn't. They didn't send me your dog tags. We made a pact, you and I. If you went missing I would not get your tags. I didn't get them. Therefore you were gone not dead. Now you are here. Alive. Dressed like a Muslim woman. Disguise, I assume?"

Okay give Greg his due, he was mellow but he was dead clever.

"No, I am a cross dresser. Let me in and I will explain."

Of course he let me in. I was and still am his closest friend, no matter what I was wearing.

He shoved a pile of papers off the couch and bade me sit. I sat. His black cat Schrödinger leaped on me and began to knead me. This bode well for what I had to tell his daddy.

"I need a safe place to stay."

"Here it is then. Mate, you don't need to even worry."

Greg was like this. Seriously. Nothing freaked him for too long. He never asked why I needed to hide, just assured me I was okay here with him.

"Nobody can know I am back." I said. "I mean nobody, not even your family, not even mine. If you tell, I will be killed. I am serious."

"I won't tell anyone." Greg shrugged, sitting on the arm of his chair. His floppy purple hippy shirt bunched up as he crossed his arms and stared at me. "But how will you hide here? Even in this outfit mate, you will be seen."

"Ah...well...it won't be a problem..." here came the really hard ikky bit. I had to man up. Sack up. Grow a pair. Be a man....even in a dress.

"Oh come on Watto, you are very sneaky indeed, but even the sneakiest bastard will be spotted sooner or later."

"Shrooms...I don't want you to panic....but being seen is the least of my problems..." I lifted my hand and peeled off the top of my disguise. "In fact, it may never be a problem again."

When Greg saw what I meant he went really really pale, and then gently slipped to the ground, staring at me.

"What...."

"I got shot. In the shoulder." I said.

"Watto..."

"It was a new type of weapon. It disrupted my basic molecular structure."

"Watto..."

"And so now, I repel light, or rather, light ignores me."

"Watto..."

"mate....?"

"You are fucking invisible man!"

And THAT'S when he fainted.

#


	2. TWO

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Experiments in invisibility and a rock bee flies...

CONDUCTOR OF LIGHT

CHAPTER TWO

GREG was...well, he was awesome. I could not ask for a better more accepting friend. I made the right decision going to him.

Did not stop him experimenting on me however. Bloody hippy. But all the things he wanted to learn about me I had wanted to know too, but had been too busy running and hiding to take time out to do.

In the first week we learned that all the things I had had with me and on me at the time I had been shot were invisible. This was stone one. All I had left now was my uniform and hand gun of course, the medi kit and my rifle and helmet were still in the desert, being invisible. Well, I assumed. Maybe things went visible again after a while? Like me...I was hoping...maybe it would wear off? Cos things turned invisible if I wore them against my skin straight away. And food went completely see through as soon as I chomped on it, thank goodness, cos...ew...

Anyway, Greg suggested I take my army issue pants off and leave them somewhere, not being touched, to see if they would go visible again. The ones I replaced them with turned invisible in three hours so that was good to know. I could plan my next days clothes by wearing them to bed and that would also make sure the bed and duvet didn't disappear three hours into a good kip.

After a week those pants had still not appeared. But other stuff, the stuff I put on and went invisible after three hours, turned visible again in another three hours after I had taken them off.

Interesting.

My....bodily waste fluids were also invisible when they left my body. Neither of us were interested enough to see weather they turned visible again. Maybe they did after three hours, maybe they didn't because they had a lot of me with them...who knew? I flushed those suckers away!

Bodily pleasure fluids...Erm...well...in that first week I was too busy with other stuff.

Greg and I did sleep naked together...once...for science. He did not turn invisible but his sheets a my pillow did. So, inorganic stuff turned invisible after three hours against my skin, but organic didn't. Schrödinger was safe! We guessed, because I was too impatient, that sitting or standing on anything, naked or barefoot, would turn stuff invisible too. But as I said, too impatient. One day, later, we decided, we could get me to stand or sit on a floor and measure the circumference of invisibility. But for now....nah...

Cos I had this brilliant idea! 

If...slightly unethical...idea...

So I said to Greg I said...

"How about you become a ghost whisperer and I be your pet ghost."

He said no.

I said:

"Think about it. I could mingle, pick up information, relay it to you by...I dunno, whispering. I could move stuff about spookily and shit. It would be fun and get more people in your shop."

He said no.

I said:

"Come on, I am bored! Some days I feel like I am invisible!"

He cracked up. 

Then said yes.

So that's what we did. Cleared a spot down the side of the shop, made a nook with cushions and incense and other shit Greg said we would need to make a calm space or some shit like that. He practised that hippy chanting which he always did, yoga or some crap, smoked the space with stinky weeds, and put an add in the paper and on his website.

The first meeting went well. What information I could not glean from hovering and listening I made up for by floating shit. Little things. Cushions, mobile phones, bags. Nothing too over the top, I didn't want Greg to get too much attention.

After that we had lots more people turn up until our little room was filled to capacity. It was fun now, and people seemed satisfied merely to be shown there WAS a afterlife, so Greg started to feel okay. He liked people to be happy, and chill. He got over his guilt. Plus we charged a pittance really, compared to other mediums online or in the papers. I had researched. I thought we could put the price up once more started coming, but Greg declined. He was not in it for the money. He said, he was in it to keep me happy and make other people happy.

He really is the greatest guy. He deserves and awesome boyfriend.

I kept an eye out for him during our sessions but no-one caught my eye. Or his. He had a type. And his type would definitely not attend séances. Bloody picky hippy! 

But when the most stunning man in the whole world walked into his shop I forgot all about Greg and concentrated on my own boyfriend less state. I gaped like an idiot. I was glad no-one could see me.

Tall. Willow thin. Inky hair in thick play-with-me curls, eyes sea green, cheekbones to die for. Gorgeous super expensive coat. Purple shirt. Dress trousers. Shiny shoes.

He was looking at our shelves of crystals and skulls and other nancy hippy junk Greg liked and sold. He moved like a dancer, but he was less aware of himself than a dancer.

"Can I help you?" Greg asked. I whooshed to his side and deftly grabbed Gregs sleeve.

"I am in love." I whispered, and Greg laughed.

My Love God cocked his eyebrow.

"Oh, sorry, it's just John." Greg said.

"Ah, you are the so called medium." Hubby To Be said. And that voice, oh my very shiny stars, like caramel and gravel. I clutched Gregs arm tighter. He pretended not to notice, and put his other arm out.

"Greg Lestrade." Greg said.

"Sherlock." My Pants Dancer announced. "Holmes. Consulting Detective."

"I don't do one on one meetings." Greg said. "I like a group setting."

"I am not here for a reading." he said and I sighed. Boo. How was I going to get his...oh, he held out his card. Greg took it. "I am here to prove you are a fraud."

"Oh." said Greg. "Okay. Why?"

"What do you mean why? You take people's money and claim you talk to spirits." Purple Shirt Adonis spat.

"Not spirits. Spirit. One. John." Greg said. "And he prefers the term Unseen One, rather than Spirit."

Not true. GREG preferred that term. Reckoned it was less of a lie.

"Unseen or seen, I cannot abide false mediums. You take advantage of people at their most vulnerable. Fair warning. I WILL find you out and I WILL expose you!"

I whispered and Greg giggled. Hubby cocked his eyebrow again.

"Oh, John said he will gladly expose himself to you." and he giggled again. I clapped my hand over my mouth to keep from guffawing. Come on, these were my best lines! Never failed at an Army bar....

Sherlock scoffed and then turned to go. I whispered to Greg to stop him and took off from his side.

"Wait!" Greg said. Sherlock stopped and half turned back. "John....he says...." Greg could think of nothing but I already had what I wanted. A clue. In Sherlocks pocket. A leaflet on local pollens. The man liked bees. 

I found a crystal bee carved from rose stone. The crystal of lerrrrrrrvvv.....I picked it up off the shelf and slowly walked back to Sherlock. Those eyes, those beautiful magic eyes, caught sight of the bee and he gasped. Okay, so now I could not decide if his lips or eyes were prettier...no matter, he watched me bring that bee over. 

Mesmerised, he held out his hand and I dropped the bee in his palm and took three rapid steps back. Humans were unpredictable. He could flail or kick,...

He did neither.

He stared at the bee and then clamped his fist over it.

"I will be back for the circle tomorrow." he said, and then roughly exited the shop.

"Jesus bloody fuck John, what was that?"

"Greg...I just met the man of my dreams." I told him.

"Oh he is just your type John. Fucking nuts. Like you."

And I could not have agreed more.

#


	3. THREE

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Circle time, come on and grab your friends!

CONDUCTOR OF LIGHT

CHAPTER THREE

YOU know how I said Gregs type would never attend our séances? Well cover me in eggs and flour and bake me for fourteen minutes but didn't his type swan in the next circle. Sherlock had a brother.

Now before you get all excited....alright, before *I* get all excited, the two Holmes brothers were really different. The similarities were height and noses. But where My Dream Boat was inky, his brother was auburn, where Mister Perfect was thin, his brother was muscled, and where Sexy Coat was slightly posh casual in his attire, his brother wore a three piece suit.

"Mister Lestrade, my brother, Mycroft."

Greggies eyes went all wide and moonie, it was seriously disgusting in its cuteness. Oh yes, the waist coat, matching tie and pocket kerchief....Greggies dream man alright. 

"Charmed." Greg said, and grinned like a Cheshire cat. I could tell he was pleased he was wearing his gold jacquard genie pants and floppy green hippy shirt that made his eyes pop and his tanned skin tanner. He knew he looked hot, and he did. But I tell you, he would have gone and changed if he felt less than gorgoeous.

I hoped that way did not lay heart ache. I sure couldn't tell. Mycroft was as frosty as a frosty thing on frost pills from frost town. Refused a cushion too, so Greggles pulled a chair over just for him.

Apart from the Holmes brothers there were three others in for the circle. Two were return visits so I was alright there with the guesswork, the other was a lovely middle aged lady who looked quite at home on the cushions.

So did French Portrait Man, draped over the cushions like my personal wet dream. Fucking sigh. It was times like this I wished I had a phone so I could snap a picture of him and keep it close to my heart. Or down my pants. But electronics took ages to go invisible and then I could not work them cos I could not see myself or the keyboard and fuck knows what I would type. 

"Hwy Sherlock I kidney it's. Own ty Tou cute thing, aroun,"

Yeah. Romantic.

So anyway, we got started. I sat behind Greg and put my arms around him, sitting my chin on his shoulder so I could whisper and observe. I tried not to just stare at Shers Cock but damn...those trousers...and those thighs...those long long thighs...~sigh~ 

Greg smiled and breathed in and I began to whisper stuff I knew and stuff I had heard. Greg did really well and the returners were beaming. Tell you the truth I really liked making people happy. 

Then Mycroft leaned in and asked Greg:

"Who is talking to you?" 

Greg baulked. Surprisingly he had never been asked this. I was quiet, because Greg knew who I was.

"His name is John." Greg said.

"John whom?"

"Just John." Greg shrugged. Oh for fucks sake, the hippy freak was getting a hard on under this mans stare. Really? I shifted my arms a bit cos I did not want to touch the D.

"Where is he from?"

"Judging by his accent, London somewhere."

"You have never asked him?"

"No...I never have. John. Where ARE you from?"

I whispered "Your ARSE fuck face, stop rubbing your cock on me." and Greg giggled. 

"Oh, ah, sorry. London." Greg said.

"How is this relevant?" one of the regulars asked.

"How old is he?" Mycroft went on, ignoring the regulars question.

"Thirty...something?"

"Thirty two." I sighwhispered.

"Thirty two." Greg parrotted.

"And when did he die?" Mycroft said.

"And where?" my Creamy Sex God added.

"Erm...well..." Greg said, poor thing. He didn't want to lie. But as I wasn't dead, it was difficult. Also, he couldn't say a minor lie like "He was killed in Afghanistan." because I did not know if anyone was still after me. They sure as shit were after me in Afghanistan itself. Always with the running. Worse than a Doctor Who episode. But I was here with Greg and safe. Safe enough for now.

"Tell them I am newly arrived." I whispered. That should work.

"He is new to us." Greg said. "He recently arrived." 

"And his death, Mister Lestrade?"

"I am pretty sure he won't speak about that." Greg said, and the little old lady spoke up.

"Why would he want to tell you, you insufferably rude man. If you don't believe, why are you here?"

Mycroft cocked an eyebrow, and he looked just like my Angel Pants, who sat forward and said right to the lady's face, before his brother could even say anything.

"To debunk this ridiculous farce." he announced and I sighed.

"John, don't sigh!" Greg said to me, before the indignant lady could stick up for us. "His voice is not sigh worthy, he is casting nasturtiums on you."

"Aspersions." I whispered.

"Yes yes aspersions."Greg waved his hands. 

"He does have a nice voice." one of the regulars said, nodding to Sherlock.

"But he is being mean about John!" Greg protested.

"I believe it is YOU we are questioning." Velvet Irish Cream voice said then and Greg startled. Because yes, it was.

"Oh...okay then. Who do you THINK I am talking to." he asked Mycroft then. Mycroft shifted. I think maybe he was not expecting to be asked that.

"Your imagination." Mycroft said.

"Oh, no, Johns real." Greg said. I slipped away then. Time for floaty scary spooky shit. Thing is I wanted this to be for Mycroft. He was hard to read. Really difficult. I assumed he was not into bees as he was really different to my Future Fuck, but just what DID he like? Facts. Chairs. Suits. Debunking shit. Prolly worked for the government...oh!

The conspiracies book....with the aliens on the front. I snickered, picked it up, and floated it over. All eyes were on the book, all arguing ceased. I really REALLY carefully rested the book in Mycrofts lap and moved back really quickly. There was something underneath this man, a quickness I was suspicious of but only pertaining to me, or my situation. Not for Greg. And if I made him interested in Greg, maybe he would come back. Invite Greg to dinner. Do the smoochie-woochie stuff Greg liked because he was a big girls blouse.

"Well...." Mycroft said, grabbing the book. "Thank you John."

The circle broke up after that. Wasn't much that could top that. Greg saw the regulars out, and the lady, and then took time to say a proper goodbye to the Holmes brothers.

"It was really nice meeting you!" he was saying. "Perhaps I could interest you on these chimes from Nepal..." and God love him, Mycroft followed Greg into the shop. HUZZAH, maybe Mycroft liiiiiiked Greggie-Poo! That would be so supremely awesome!

Sherlock, my tall beloved, moved off to the book section. I followed him because hello, dat arse. He crouched to where I had picked out the conspiracies book and run his long gorgeous fingers over the spines. I pictured those long gorgeous fingers on my spine and sighed. 

Sherlock froze, and looked around. I softly clapped my hand over my mouth. Bugger.

"John, are you here, now?" he whispered.

Oh shit oh damn oh bugger oh fuck oh.....Well this was a pickle. Answer him and I give myself away. Don't answer him and maybe I would never get this chance to know him.

So I made my decision, and it was mine, and I fucking own it...okay?

#


	4. FOUR

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock does some investigating, John does some smooth dodging.

CONDUCTOR OF LIGHT

CHAPTER FOUR

IT was vitally important that the first words to My Beloved be witty. Clever. Memorable. That they show my personality. That they make him interested in getting to know me. So. What did I say....?

"Are you related to Jean-Claude Van Damme? Because Jean-Claude Van Damme you're sexy!......." 

And then I groaned in pain...actual physical pain. Where the hell had that come from? And could I ACTUALLY die right now.? Thanks....

Sherlock looked up to where my voice came from. Those eyes, oh yum yum and kill me cos I think I have destroyed any hope of getting into this mans tight tight trousers...

"I've heard worse." he finally said, shrugging.

"You have not!" I cried. He smirked and affected a Doncaster accent.

"I'd like to read your shirt...in Braille!" 

I snickered. 

"ohhhh man, that's WAY worse!" I exclaimed, feeling much better. 

"It didn't work." Sherlock said. "But I don't mind that he tried."

"Shows he's interested I suppose." I said.

But then some things hit me like a boomerang to the face while standing near a river. One, Sherlock was as gay as me and two, we were speaking as if I were not a ghost. Also, I was having a conversation with My Love Muffin. And so I then said, all intelligent like,

"...uhrm..."

"I take it I am talking to John." Sherlock stood, and smoothed his jacket down.

Well, what could I say. I slumped.

"Yes." I sighed, all admittedly and shit.

"Well, I am relieved Mister Lestrade is not speaking to himself." Sherlock said. He waved his arm in front of him and I smoothly stepped back, instinct taking over, because I would love to have Sherlock touch me...."So, what do I call you, a spirit? A ghost?"

"Well, I prefer John." I said, and he turned to my voice so I kind of slinked away somewhere else in case he decided to charge me. Then I got kinda distracted thinking about him tackling me. Mm mm nice. But how could we ever be as one with me being invisible and shit?

"So, John...how do you like being a spirit?" Sherlock asked then, those cat like eyes scanning the room. I felt like he could see me and I hadn't realised how much I missed being looked at.

"I like it here." I said, and side stepped softly when his eyes swung my way.

"Did you know Greg went to school with a John?" Sherlock asked. "Looked Mister Lestrade up on the Internet last night. He is a very fascinating, beyond this store and his so called medium business."

"Oh?" I said, and dodged again as those gorgeous eyes pinned me.

"Yes. And I found his mate. Captain John Watson, Fifth Northumberland Fusiliers. Missing in action, presumed dead." Sherlock said. I said nothing. "Body not found. He was from London too. Greg and he were very close."

I thought for a minute. This guy was clever. Almost as clever as me. And yeah, right then, I believed that. 

"So maybe Greg conjured me up, is that what you are saying?" I asked. "To replace that John?"

"A ha ha no." Sherlock said deadpanned, turning to my voice. I avoided having to do the shuffle with the reappearance of Mycroft and Greg.

"I would love to show you how to fung shui your office, or like...come in and do it for you." Greg was saying. 

"I am sure that would be very interesting Mister Lestrade."

"Greg, please."Greg insisted, and I was so happy they were doing okay. 

Greg (We) saw the men out the door. I was unsure when I would get to see Sherlock again so I nipped out to see what car they had, so I could maybe get Greg to follow it in his horrid electric hippy car next time they came to declare Greg a fraud. Or whatever they wanted to prove. Cos whatevs, hello, Sherlock was cute...was that bad? Selfish? Because if they DID debunk him questions as to who I was would come to the surface and..I guessed I would have to run again. WITH Greg of course.

To my surprise, they had a driver and town car. So Mycroft was a high up in his chosen field. And once again I was pretty sure it was governmental.

Once the door had closed and Greg had gone inside Sherlock lit up a cigarette.

"Sherlock, you cannot smoke in the car." Mycroft said.

"I will be walking from here Mycroft." Sherlock announced.

"It is no trouble for me to drop you off."

"I will be walking."

Mycroft looked at his brother and something passed from eyeballs to eyeballs. Freaky brother stuff, I dunno, I may have to ask Greg if he was okay speaking about Ben. It was not a subject that came up often.

So, my Mister was going to walk? Well how about I stalk after him like a thing that stalks and find out where the sexy bugger lived. I could do that. Secretly. Heh heh and indeed hehe.

Mycroft got into his town car and hovered off into the night. Sherlock stared after him, exhaling a long puff of smoke.

"Well John, come on." he threw over his shoulder and strode off, coat like a cape.

And yeah, after a second of surprise, I followed...

#


	5. FIVE

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John feels corporeal for a little while. Bit of light smut.

CONDUCTOR OF LIGHT

CHAPTER FIVE

I followed him quite closely, and I was questioning myself the whole way. His brother worked for some sort of Governmental department for a start. How safe was I? And then the questions about Gregs friend John Watson, which was me of course, showed that he was already asking questions along a line which would mean he would probably eventually find the truth.

Oh but that coat and that hair and those eyes...yeah, I was being led by my dick, okay? I felt safe enough, with invisibility and combat experience on my side, and....wow, he smelled pretty...

"Where are we going?" I asked as I ran to catch up.

"My place." he said. I managed to catch up to his side and walked next to him. He kind of jumped when I said then:"Why?"which was good, he was not always aware of where I was, the uncanny noticer.

"Because I am fascinated by you." Sherlock shrugged, tossing the butt of his well smoked cigarette away.

"I could fix you up with patches." I offered, coughing gently. He stopped and so I did too.

"Because you have medical training?" He asked. Smart. John Watson was a medic. I mean *I* was a medic of course. 

"Well, no, Greg is on patches. He used to smoke. A lot. Still has the cravings and the patches take the edge off." I said. Sherlock nodded. A few of his curls whipped in a quick breeze and I was fascinated enough to watch that for a second. Another perk to being invisible. You don't have to look where society says is polite to look while talking to someone. I could even stare at his gorgeous ear, his luscious bottom lip, his long hands, those pretty lashes....

"Maybe. Patches. Yes, maybe." he said, and took off again. I kept up, swapping to the other side so Sherlock would not predict where I was. Yeah, he was stunning but I was not stupid.

Eventually we got to a door. 221b in brass letters. My stunning new BFF was fishing for his keys when the door opened.

"Sherlock Holmes! Back from ghost hunting already?" a lovely older lady cried, and dragged him in for a quick hug.

"Brought one back with me. This is my new friend John." Sherlock said, waving to where I stood. "John, Mrs Hudson."

Well I sure as shit was not going to say something. What if she had some sort of attack and popped a blood vessell?

"Very funny dear." Mrs Hudson said, waving over her shoulder in a dismissive gesture as we moved inside.

"I keep forgetting people cannot see you." Sherlock said, as we climbed the stairs presented to us.

"YOU can't see me." I pointed out to my delusional Love Bunny.

"Not with my eyes, but my other senses see you quite well. Well enough to get a sense of you anyway..." Sherlock said, continuing to climb the stairs.

"oh...." I said, pausing, and confused for a second. Then came the dawn...that's when I began to suspect Sherlock knew I was not a damn ghost. That's when I began to suspect he was at least as clever as myself....

So, how was this going to play out. What did he want? Why was I following him? Should I turn and run?

"Please, don't go..." Sugar Lips said, turning at the top of the stairs and looking down to where he suspected I was, and in fact, actually was....smarty arse.

"Sherlock...I am trusting you a shit of a lot. Just tell me this. Am I safe with you?" and I was serious. Not flirty undertones. I really wanted to know.

"As in, am I going to hand you back to whatever X-Files like Government facility that would desperately want you?" Sherlock asked. Shit shit shit, maybe he was a tad smarter than me. I nodded then remembered he could not see me. He had got me quite wrong footed.

"Yeah..." I said. "That..."

"Are you dangerous?"

"Define dangerous." I said. "In hand to hand combat I am fierce."

"Actually, I meant, are you radioactive, likely to blow, spread disease, cause unrest, call in the aliens..." Sherlock shrugged. The fact he looked so serious made me worry. What did he know that most of us didn't...asks the totally invisible man...okay, so there are more things on heaven and earth Horatio...

"Uh..." I said. "No, I suspect not but I didn't think of that. Radioactive maybe. But maybe more like a glow in the dark watch hand than a deform all the cattle in a forest near Chernobyl type of amount."

Sherlock nodded, opened the door to what I assumed was his flat and went in. I sighed, and followed.

When I got in and closed the door Sherlock suddenly spun and pushed me into the wall. I sqwarked and struggled but he was clever. Pushed his whole body against me, which was nice because...did I mention he smelled pretty? But he also found my arms with a kind of preternatural skill and pretty much had me pinned quite affectively. I felt like an idiot. He had fucking tricked me. I tensed myself to throw him off when he whispered:

"Real. You are real!"

I kind of flopped. It was weird that, until that second, I was unaware of how important it was to be thought of as a real person, a corporeal being worth interacting with. Greg had been awesome of course, but to be acknowledged by someone else, especially someone I really quite liked in the pants department, well...it was interesting.

I broke one of my arms free and grabbed his wrist. Gently, I brought his hand up to my pounding jugular and pressed two of his wonderfully long and warm fingers to it. It was proof of freshness and aliveness and he gasped.

"Alive." I said. "Real." I added. 

"John...what happened to you?" Sherlock asked then, voice low. I loved the way he was looking at me. With wonder and kind of care, like I mattered, like I existed, like I was THERE!

"I think I am allergic to light waves." I said stupidly. Then I stopped talking because he was moving his hand up my throat. Oh God it felt so good...I swallowed. He brought both hands up to my face and I closed my eyes. The strange half light of my surroundings (looking through lids that, while see through, made my world go fuzzy like I was looking under water) only increased my awareness of his hands on me. 

He was feeling my face. Looking at me in Braille. Memorising what I looked like under his wonderful long fingers. Oh yes, get a good lonnnnnnnnnnng look baby...make sure you stare at me for ages!

His thumbs rubbed my cheekbones and down to my lips. My mouth parted, involuntarily of course, and I didn't mean to make that sexy sigh, but it happened, okay????

And then...the teasing prick pushed his hips into mine, a tiny movement, that made me moan. Not only was I being touched but I was being touched intimately. By the sexy guy I was crushing on...oh seriously, my reptile brain was swinging a cave man club at my ganglia and growling "Back off!!" to any sensible thoughts of escape starting to form.

"You really are an actual human." Sherlock said then, lips only millimetres from mine. It took me a second to realise he meant my hard dick nestled against his hip and I thrust lightly, needing the friction, need the touch. Needing HIM!

And oh yes dear perverted readers, he kissed me. He put those beautiful, sexy, gorgeous lips on mine and he smooshed them around. 

"Oh God..." I may have moaned like a whore. "Oh yes..."

And then he flicked his tongue into my mouth and I was lost. I pushed into him, deepening the kiss and adding my own tongue. His heat was amazing, his life force, his very thereness was so sexy that I forgot I was not a normal man and I reacted as if he wanted me, as if he loved me, as of this was our third date and I was going to put out.

And it seemed he was okay with that thinking too. He kissed me hotly, pushed his hard cock into my stomach, used his tongue in a very filthy manner which I greatly appreciated.

But when he pulled back and opened his eyes...there was shock. He registered once again that I was invisible. I could be felt, kissed, rutted against. But I could not be seen. And this shocked him enough to step back and press his fingers to his lips.

"Fuck...." he said. It was all he needed to say. The look on his face was enough. I was a freak. What did I expect, really? And right then a crushing weight draped itself over my shoulders. This was my life now. Invisi-freak, fake ghost, stoopid trickster of no substance. Not acknowledged, ignored at best, a non human in a humans carcass.

Fuck me and fuck my life.

I opened the door and ran down the stairs, uncaring at the noise my feet made on the steps, nor the echoing sound of the pathetic girly choked back sobs that came unbidden from my throat.

In three minutes flat I was lost but it took me ages after that to get really truly frightened.

#


	6. SIX

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock deduces where John is and smooths stuff over...

CONDUCTOR OF LIGHT

CHAPTER SIX

YEAH I knew I should have manned up, okay? But it is quite hard to go from being a visible human being to an invisible creature that once WAS human. And my widdle feels were hurt. I really REALLY liked Sherlock, he was cute and clever and smelled nice. And for a split second I though I was normal and yes, go for it son!!!

But I had to spin my thinking. I was invisible and alive. If I had to pick between the two I would still pick alive. 

When I finally looked around I had absolutely no idea where I was. It was dark. It was cold. I had not slept in my coat so I was just in my invisible uniform. I was grateful for my combat boots though, because I ended up in an alley, away from people.

People are strange. Mostly you cannot predict what they will do. When newly invisible and back in England I walked on a pavement, clear of all humans, when a few people came towards me. I figured they would stay in the formation they were in, but no. Suddenly one of them broke away and veered....if I had not been quick on my feet I would have been knocked over. 

So, with that in mind, I stuck to the sides of buildings until I found an alley to duck down and gather myself.

First thing I did was wipe the snot and tears off my face. I had had my wussy cry and now I had to man up and find out how to get back to Gregs. He was probably shitting himself by now. I hadn't even told him I was following Sherlock. He probably thought I was dead. Well, the night was young....

Next thing I did was settle my heart. Deep breathing. In through my snotty nose, out through my mouth. Okay okay okay I knew London. I knew it well, I had lived here for years and years. Walked it in my youth. Drove it, cabbed it, staggered drunk through it. This was my city...now...where in the fuck was I?

"Captain Watson?" came a voice at the end of the alley. A tall streak of pelican piss in a Belstaff stood in the mouth of the alley, backlit by a yellow street light. Bloody hell. Well, at least he could not see the embarrassment on my face.

I stepped out from behind the bins and stepped carefully up to the mouth of the alley.

"Captain Watson?"

"John." I said, and he did jump, just the teensiest bit. "How did you find me?"

"Put myself in your place. I called down three other alleys before this one." Sherlock said. Then he put his hand out. "John...I'm sorry. I shouldn't have...forced myself on you like that. I was just very surprised that you were real and..." he looked uncharacteristically lost for words. Then he just blurt it out. "You smell nice."

I barked out a laugh. Then I grabbed his hand. He pulled me closer. 

"Greg called me. I told him you were with me, even though at the time I was looking for you." He said.

"You are quite sure of yourself." I said.

"I can be. I know a great deal." he said. "Now, will you come back to mine? You feel cold. I promise not to jump you."

"Uh...well...sure, but I didn't mind you....jumping me." I admitted, as we began to walk back. I kept hold of his hand. It felt nice. Must have looked weird, but nobody was around. "It's just, when you opened your eyes and couldn't see me...you looked really shocked."

"Oh I was."

"Well. I forgot I was not normal for the time you were kissing me. And then of course I was reminded by the look in your eye..." I trailed off. He looked funny.

"I was not shocked at you, or your....Erm...affliction?"

"I call it my Thing, if that helps."

"Ha. Well. I was not shocked at your Thing. I was shocked that I practically raped you against the wall and...why did you grip my hand then?"

"um...." I said. I had no idea I had done it but it was because he said dirty filthy sex things and it made me all hot. Again. "Cos...you're hot?" I said. "And...I liked your tongue in my mouth..."

He actually smirked. "Oh?" he said. And then he smiled. "I'm hot?"

"Oh don't!" I laughed. "You know you are hot, don't pretend otherwise!"

"What about you?" Sherlock asked. "Are you hot?"

I twisted my mouth in a thinky pose and huffed. Hard to answer that. When you are invisible its hard to rely on your looks.

"You hand your hands on me, what did you think?"

"Well thats self evident really. I DID kiss you." Sherlock said. "Hard. Against the wall..." his voice dropped lower and he went all breathy, but didn't look at me and don't stop walking. Bastard. I suddenly had an trouser issue, and I knew I was clutching his hand again. He was practically dragging me along. At least I recognised where we were now. 

I yanked his arm and stopped him.

"Don't you think this is weird?" I asked. "I am an invisible man. Say it out loud. I am invisible."

"John." Sherlock said. "This is beyond my scope of experience but so is...travelling to the moon. So is giving birth to puppies...so is.."

"Shopping for milk at Tescos, you posh git?"

"Oh no, I do that. Who else will get me milk?" Sherlock looked confused. "My point is, if I thought everything I had not experienced was weird I would never get to have a try at anything, and that is unacceptable John. I like new things. I am willing to try them."

"But...I am invisible..."

"John....if I am going to scream and jump on a chair the second something I have not experienced leaps out of the wainscotting at me then I would not be able to call myself a genius, OR a detective!"

"Detective?" I asked.

"Consulting detective. I help the police see the things they always miss at crime scenes." 

"Oh. Okay." I said. Sherlock pulled my hand gently and I followed him again. Ruminating. "So, am I a new thing to investigate?"

"Yes."Sherlock said. "But I would like to think we could become friends too."

"Okay..." I said. 

As we drew up to his door with the brass letters I got a bit nervous. I squeezed his hand and he stopped. "You okay?" he asked, turning and looking at my shoulder but hey, he could not see where my face was.

"I am...I am okay....ish..." I said. "I am nervous."

"No kissing at the top of the stairs, I promise."

"Okay..." I said, a bit disappointed.

"Can you make tea? I would love a cuppa."

"You want me to come to your flat and make YOU tea?"

"Yes." he said, pushing the door open. Then he looked back at me. "Bugger..." he said. "I've got no milk..."

#


	7. SEVEN

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John gives his side of how he turned invisible.

CONDUCTOR OF LIGHT

CHAPTER SEVEN

AFTER I made the tea, Sherlock, grinning like an idiot at the tea cup floating towards him, bade me sit. I found a comfy chair and sipped at the lovely milk less tea I had made. It was not too bad black.

"Nice skull." I commented, using the cup to kind of point at the skull on Sherlocks mantle. 

"Friend of mine." Sherlock said, and I laughed. "So, what do you remember of what made you like this John?"

"You want to know the whole story?"

"Please."

"Okay, but I need to know a few things"

"No doubt"

"I want to know that Gregs going to be okay even if I end up not being OK."

"Why wouldn't you be?" Sherlock asked me.

"Your brother works for the government."

"He has a minor position."

"The government want me, believe me. For all I know Mycroft works for the secret service,"

"Oh no, he doesn't trust them. They all spy on people for money."

"Can you keep me safe? Me and Greg? Will you take what I tell you and use it against me?"

"I can promise you I won't. I am just fascinated in your story."

Yeah, he seemed trustworthy, if a little intense.

I settled back and thought about where I could start. 

"You know I was in Afghanistan." I asked, and Sherlock nodded. "During a patrol we were pinned down by crossfire. One of our group was caught in the open, right in the chest and he was screaming." 

I decided to just say the words, not relive the feelings. Did you know they say the same thing to people who are regressed to past lives? 

'Remember, don't re-live.'

So that's what I did...

"Mike was screaming. I am pretty sure he was not in pain, he was hopped up on adrenalin, he was just really really scared. I couldn't get to him because the crossfire was massive. Then all of a sudden it stopped and these weird things were dropping, like bombs but they sort of splashed. I assumed they were phosphorous bombs, we had had some intel of a new weapon, but it caused enough of a distraction for me to crawl out to Mike. 

"A quick once over and I could see he was going to need some major work. His chest was wide open but his heart was still contained. He was grabbing my arm and begging me to help him. I told him I was, and I was just reaching for my Med kit for some morphine when something punched my shoulder and slammed me into Mike. I passed out.

"When I woke up I was....faded, like see through. And everyone had gone. I thought I had died. I was seriously nauseous and confused. I stumbled about for ages. I couldn't see anyone. Finally someone in a jeep yelled at me. They didn't use my name, just my title. Captain. And then something told me to run. And I ran. They chased me. As I was running I realised I was totally see through, almost invisible.

"And then I realised why they wanted me. They wanted to experiment on me. And there I was leaving footprints in the sand for them to follow me! You bet your arse I found some rock and stopped running. I moved off to the side, puffing like an idiot, but realising they would not be able to find me if I didn't react as if I were still able to be seen, you know? Confuse them, outsmart them. I have no idea why or how I thought of it but I am nothing if not adaptable.

"After that I was scared, thirsty, tired, on edge all the time. I hid, I dodged, I....it was horrible. I was terrified but I just wanted to get home. I finally found my way to an airport and hid in a returning Hurc. Then I dressed in a full burkha and ended up at Greg's door."

I looked at Sherlock and took another sip of my almost cold tea. He was staring at my cup. Well, I guess that's all he could see.

"So the government, most likely ours, has a secret weapon and it turned you invisible." he finally said.

"That was my conclusion yes."

"Well...." Sherlock seemed to be struggling to say something. "That just sucks..." he said, then screwed up his nose in a really cute way.

"I've had better days-"

Suddenly, the door below the flat slammed open.

"Sherlock!!! SHERLOCK!!!" came a roaring mans voice. Sherlock leaped to his feet and ran to lock the door, but he was to late to prevent a man forcing his way into the flat.

"Jim!" Sherlock bit out. "You are not welcome-"

"Where is he? WHERE IS HE? I can smell him...and there are two cups you bastard!" the little black haired man raised his arm and Sherlock caught it as it flew towards his face.

"Jim, you need to leave!"

"Where in the fuck is he, did you hide him in your closet?"

"Jim, LEAVE!"

Instead of leaving though, this Jim twisted Sherlocks arm up behind his back and made him scream and fall to his knees.

Yeah well...I decided I had better do something. Even though I was pretty sure this was Sherlocks boyfriend and I was crushed. I had really liked him. But hey, domestic violence, just say NO, right? 

So I picked up the skull and I floated it over the room. Jim and Sherlock were riveted to it. And then, for shits and giggles, I put on a demonic voice.

"Oooo0000ooohhhh..." I said, working the hinged jaw of the skull like a puppet. "Leave this plaaaaaace...." 

Jim screamed his little lungs out, threw Sherlock to the ground and whipped a hand gun out from behind his jacket. 

"Shit!" I said, dropped the skull, and dove behind the couch.

#


	8. EIGHT

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oooooooo000000oooohhhh...I am the ghost of two two one beeeeeeeeee.....

CONDUCTOR OF LIGHT

CHAPTER EIGHT

It was only as I crashed to the ground, sending dust bunnies flying, that I thought:

"MotherFUCK! I am fucking INVISIBLE!!"

I peeked my head over the couch to see this Jim person pointing his gun at the skull. None of his three bullets had hit the skull, so I guessed he was panicked and maybe not such a good shooter. I assessed his gun. Assuming it was fully packed with ammunition I guessed it would have three more rounds. It was a classic...maybe a Luger? Lucky bastard, I had always wanted one of them. Perhaps I could steal it from him once I...oh yeah! 

Saved Sherlock.

I looked over at the streaky detective and saw him rolling over onto his side, nursing the arm Jim had twisted. Jim was standing over him, legs apart, which was brave considering the bollock-aim Sherlock had, but he was moving forward.

Weapon weapon, I needed a weapon...well helloooooo, a blood covered harpoon. Handy. We hadn't been taught to handle harpoons in Afghanistan, but I figured I could use it. How it got here was not a thing I could think to ask about right now as I was going to save Sherlocks lovely plump arse with it.

I slid out and grabbed the harpoon. I made the same OOooooooo000000Oooohhhh noise the skull had made and rattled the harpoon. Jim fired twice, screaming. He missed everything except the wall. Sherlock blocked his ears by reflex and squicked a bit as his arm was forced to move. 

I lifted the harpoon and pointed it at Jim, keeping it out to the side of me I case Jim shot at me not the harpoon. Sherlock spoke up then though, to distract him.

"Jim, you better get out, it's the ghost of two two one beeeee!!" He said in a fake frightened, okay tinged with real fright, voice.

"The FUCK??!!??" Jim squealed hysterically. From below us I heard the sounds of police sirens coming. Mrs Hudson must have been a love and called the police. 

I moved the harpoon closer to Jim. I stayed silent though. I didn't want Jim shooting me. Then he kind of outsmarted me...he stepped back over Sherlock and pointed the Luger at his head.

"Put the harpoon down ghostie, or I shoot Sherlock!"

Oh....hey, he had an Irish accent! I only just picked that up. Yeah, for a smart guy sometimes I am a bit slow.

"Jim, don't, he will....curse you!" Sherlock said then.

"Eek!" Jim squealed like a girl, and took a second to stare at Sherlock. In that time I lobbed the harpoon. It was heavy. And ungainly. It sproinged and clattered into the floor at Jims feet, too close to Sherlocks head for my liking but it's hard to judge too well in the split seconds I had to act in. The good thing was though, that Jim let off the last bullet. Bad thing was it ricocheted off the butt of the harpoon and nicked the skull. I was pissed. It was a nice skull. Glad it was not mine or Sherlocks of course, but hey, it was still a bummer.

Also, if I counted correctly, all six bullets had been expelled.

I need not have worried though as black clad police stormed into the apartment and in three seconds flat had got Jim disarmed, on his front, wrists cuffed. As soon as I saw the swat like team though, I had dived back behind the couch.

As Jim was dragged, screaming about a vicious poltergeist from the room, Mycroft turned up, and to my surprise, Greg was right behind him.

"Sherlock, do you need a doctor?" Mycroft asked, crouching by his brother and sitting Sherlock up. Sherlock shook his head.

"Got one." he said, just as a plain clothed detective arrived. "Ah, Dimock. Good to see you."

"Sherlock, you okay?" he asked.

"I will give a statement later." he said. "But that was James."

"Oh..." Dimock said, nodding. I sensed this was something that may have happened before and changed my mind about the nature of Sherlock and Jims relationship.

Dimock was encouraged to leave and the flat was finally free of everyone but the brothers, Greg, and me.

Wait a minute...

"Why is Greg with you?" I demanded of Mycroft, popping up out from behind the sofa again, like a meerkat from behind a pile of books.

Mycroft about shit himself and Greg gasped.

"John, are you okay?" he asked

"Your ghost followed my brother?" Mycroft queried. 

"Why IS Greg with you?" Sherlock demanded.

"I invited him to dinner." Mycroft said and I went "Woo Hoo!" and Greg blushed.

"Oh Jim shot my skull." Sherlock reached for the skull and set it back on the mantle. It was chipped but just looked street and hard, and had a cool story to tell his other skull buddies.

Mycroft stood. He was turning on his heel, peering everywhere. He was, of course, looking for me.

"John.....are you actually here..." he asked.

"Well Greg...." I said. "Good to know I am not the subject of your pillow talk." 

Greg blushed.

"We have not...that is...not....it was only dinner!"

"How did you know to come here Mycroft....?" Sherlock turned from the skull.

"He has a police scanner in his bedroom." Greg said. Then he coughed. "Erm..."

Sherlock stared at his brother, who stared back, and so I was safe in saying what we were all thinking.

"Gregory Lestrade you dirty fucking hippy slut!!!"

#


	9. NINE

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The powder trick

CONDUCTOR OF LIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

Mycroft was settled on a chair, calming cup of tea at his elbow. One of his legs were crossed over his knee and he was playing piano on his shin as he thought.

"So John is not an actual ghost." he said.

"I am right here you know. Shit, sometimes I feel invisible!" I said and Greg, bless him, choked out a laugh. I kinda nudged Sherlock sat next to me on the couch and he smiled at my neck. It is a nice neck but he was still a bit off with guessing where my eyes were. Assuming he wanted to look at my eyes of course. Maybe he wanted to smile at odd body parts.

"You are actually an invisible human person...but real. Not ethereal." Mycroft clarified.

"Real. Yes." Sherlock said, and reached out to hold my hand. It must have looked weird but it felt damn good. An actual human touch. And what a human. He was scrummy!

"How did this happen?" Mycroft asked then.

"Well, that's a secret." I said, still not trusting Mycroft.

"You told me." Greg said, stupidly.

"And me..." Sherlock added.

"Well it's a secret from MYCROFT, okay?" I huffed. Give him his due, Mycroft did not look insulted.

"Because of my connection with the Government." he stated, and I nodded. Yeah yeah, I still forgot sometimes that I could not be seen. So I then said:

"Yes. Of course."

Mycroft nodded. 

"Is your concern that I will throw you back to the powers that be for money or duty?" he asked. "Because I can assure you, much as I love this country, I do not agree with bombing people to invisibility, either really invisible, or metaphorically invisible."

"Eh?" I said, like a numty.

"He means he hates the killing of civilians, and the making of more invisibles." Sherlock said.

"Oh." I said. "Yes, those are some of my concerns. I have no idea how I got like this, I mean, at a cellular level. I guess I got in the way of an experiment, or maybe it was deliberate, I have no idea. And I don't want to, not even to find a quote unquote cure. But somebody sure as shit wanted me contained in Afghanistan, the way I was pursued. I have no idea what sort of experiments they would do on me,and you know what...I would rather stay ignorant of that too."

Mycroft nodded.

"I can assure you I do not want to bring you in, as you say. I have to say though, you are fascinating-"

"Do the talc trick." Greg interrupted.

"The talc trick?" Sherlock asked.

I groaned.

"Do you have any talcum powder?"

"Kitchen."

"It's worth it, I promise!" Greg said, leaping into the kitchen. He rattled around and Sherlock helped by suggesting he try the bread basket, and Greg did not even bat an eyelid. He came in and held it to the bit of couch I was sat on.

I took it, opened it up, and puffed it a bit.

"Mmm, lavender" I sniffed.

"For an experiment." Sherlock assured me.

"Not for your knickers drawer?" I quipped, and then squeezed a few puffs enthusiastically onto my face. The powder pouffed everywhere and I coughed. From the gasp next to me I suspected it had the desired affect. My face and shoulders were outlined in snowy powder, making me actually real for a brief period of time.

"Wow!" Greg laughed. Mycroft raised his eyebrows and said "Interesting."

But Sherlock was the one who reacted most. He put his hand to my cheek and spread the powder with his thumb. I closed my eyelids and watched as he smeared the powder there too. His pretty features went cloudy as the powder wiped over my already opaque lids. It was like looking at a blurry angel.

"Wow" Sherlock echoed and I suddenly wanted it to be just us here in the room. This was intimate and...kinda sexy. 

"You only want me for my looks." I whispered, as he added another hand and smoothed the powder over my other cheek and my other eye. Then he put his hands on my shoulders, powdered my uniform and then the neck line. His fingers felt good, and the powder was velvety.

"Its nice to see you." he finally said. 

"Nice to know I am real." I countered, and he smiled. 

"That too..."

He leaned in and pressed his lips to my powdery ones. I kinda got nervous and looked over to Greg and Mycroft, only to notice they had snuck out without us knowing. 

Considerate.

So I let him kiss me. It was nice. Tasted of powder and lavender. He kept rubbing the powder into my face but didn't pull away. I think he really wanted to see me.

And that made me really sad. Because I had no idea if I would ever be seen again. The pants at Greg's were still invisible weeks later. I had no clue as to what had made me this way, if something would cure me. And, fun as it was being invisible, I would much rather not be.

Strangely, even though I was being nicely snogged, I felt a sob bubble up. I tried to squash it but it kind of slipped out. Sherlock pulled away.

"John?"

"I'm okay." I insisted. "Kiss me. Please."

"No...no...is it because I can determine your features now?" Sherlock asked, keeping his hands on my face, my head. "Do you think I only want to kiss you because I like the shape of you? That I am shallow?"

"No." I said quietly. "Of course not." 

"Then what, John?" Sherlock whispered. 

"I suddenly had my whole ridiculous situation shoved in my face." I said. "Now please, Sherlock, kiss me. You make me dizzy in a really good way." what I meant was, he helped me forget. And I reckon he knew that. 

He leaned in again and took my lips with his. It was delicious. He was really sweet. And it really really did my head in. So I was a right git and cried like a girl while getting snogged by the most dreamy guy in Britain.

#


	10. TEN

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dirty filthy smut HUZZAH !!

CONDUCTOR OF LIGHT

CHAPTER TEN

"I can't work this out John, were you crying because you are so happy? Because I know I am pretty but this is a bit much..." Sherlock joked.

I snickered, and powder flew. 

Sherlock smiled, his hand still on my face. We had retired to his bedroom and my tears had stopped flowing but the tracks must still have been there. How much of a mess I looked I did not care. At least I looked SOMETHING.

"I am upset." I admitted. "I am invisible."

"You are allergic to light." Sherlock laughed. "But I like you. Being invisible must not be confused with not being here."

"It's been too long Sherlock. I hate this so much."

"I can actually understand that." Sherlock said, mapping my neck and throat with his gorgeous gorgeous lips. I must have tasted lavendery. "But I think you are extraordinary."

"Say that to my visible face." I sighed. Sherlock pushed my shirt off my shoulder and followed with his lips, still mapping my body.

"I am going to sound twee." Sherlock murmered then,into my non-powdered skin. "But I do not base my attraction to you on your looks."

"Then why molest me now, now you can see the outline of my features?"

"Because it's all very well announcing to myself that you are real and quite another to see your actual outline confirming this fact." Sherlock licked down my chest. "I must admit to the novelty of kissing what I can not see, but please do not mistake that as the only interest I have in you." he found my buttons and undid them by feel. Then he found my nipple and I shuddered when he used his tongue on me there. "Besides, John, you ARE invisible. So I am actually taking you as you are."

"Taking me...?" I choked, cos my brain was totes in my dick now.

"Oh yes, taking you." Sherlock used his hands to find my uniforms belt and tackled opening it with enthusiasm. 

"oh...I...OH!" I said, as he then unbuttoned and unzipped.

"I would be interested in powdering your cock, just to see it." Sherlock said "But then I would get talc in my mouth." and he swallowed me whole.

"Ai YIE!" I cried. Yes, I actually said that. I am not proud but his mouth was hot and velvety and his tongue..oh wow! I am just glad I didn't go 'Hee hah'or 'oh mummy!'...

He hollowed his cheeks and sucked on me and I lost my entire mind. He was awesome at this and it had been a while since I had had this kind of attention lavished on me. I laid back and moaned happily. Regardless of everything an awesome blowie is an awesome blowie....

Then his hand delved inside my pants and began juggling my balls. I moaned again, and wiggled. 

"Don't...take my clothes off..." I said "I may not find them again..." I had a system after showers and here, in Sherlocks room...no system and not enough brain cells left over to make one.

"shhhhhh...." Sherlock said, and I fell back to loving the attention. Hot wetness and long fingers....oh yes sir, keep going just like that. I whimpered and began thrusting my cock into his mouth, and he took me in. All of me. When I felt his throat fluttering around the head of my cock I went all funny. The soles of my feet went hot and my balls curled and I said:

"Close! Sherlock!" 

Which is all the warning the lanky git got. I came, shooting down his throat and he gulped me down and fuck me if that was not just as hot as him sucking me. I made funny sounds and squirmed and grabbed his hair and it was soooooooo goooooood!

After, I flopped into the mattress. My heart was pounding and bits of powder danced over my chest with the vibration. I shakily Re-dressed myself, I didn't want to loose my clothes, and smiled. I know Sherlock hadn't seen, so I also said "That was awesome. Thank you."

"I think I may add invisible cock to my fetish list." Sherlock laughed, and I sat up the bed a bit.

"You have a list?" I asked.

"Yes, I do. I like sensation. I am willing to try new things." Sherlock said, sliding up the bed to lay along side me, arm thrown over me.

"What's on this list?" I probed.

"As in, what have I tried, what am I willing to try, what have I not yet tried but what to?" Sherlock asked. 

"All of it." I said. "I, too, am willing to try new things."

"Maybe our lists will gel." Sherlock offered. He gently rubbed his cock on my leg and I remembered that 'ride there for a ride back' is polite.

"Maybe....for instance, how would you like me to deal with the hard cock you are rutting against me?" I dropped my voice lower, and threaded one of my hands in his hair. He growled low in his chest.

"I have never had anyone watch me fuck myself." Sherlock said.

"Well, that won't work." I said. 

"Yes it will. Blindfold me." Sherlock said, voice husky.

"Oh....okay yeah, that will work!" I said. "Sit up." Sherlock sat up eagerly. "Oh, you like me to get bossy?"

"Your voice is very commanding, Captain Watson." Sherlock said, settling against the headboard.

"Wait here."

I went out and found his scarf. It magically floated towards him and, when I tied it around his eyes, his lips parted on their own accord. God. Sexy. So sexy. Really just asking for it....

"You will do everything I say." I told him and he nodded straight away. Hm. Lightly kinky. I was massively kinky and I wondered how far he would let me go. Still, for now...

"Get your cock out." I said. My voice was low but commanding. I knew it made blokes all shivery, and the quickness those nimble fingers got his cock out proved it worked on Sherlock too.

"Stroke it, get it hard for me."

He nodded, lips still parted. He must know how good he looked.

"Say 'Yes John'." I told him.

"Yes John" he said, in a lovely breathy voice. Oh God, my cock twitched, and I am not a young man. 

"Stop." I said. He stopped straight away. I lent forward and took his lovely prick in my mouth to wet it for him. Oh he tasted nice and he whimpered pleasantly. I got him good and wet, and then sat back. "Continue."

"Yes John."

His hand on his cock, stroking himself like that, was just lovely. 

"Lean back."

"Yes John."

He did so, and his hand worked the longer length sexily.

"Tell me what you are thinking." I demanded.

"I like you watching me. Feels dirty...." he said, voice choked and breathy. "Trying to make it sexy for you. Being extra slutty..."

I popped his button and slid his trousers and pants down to his ankles. He moaned at the sudden exposure but I loved how debauched his state of dress made him.

"I love how half dressed you look like this."

"Thank you John."

God, him using my name went strait to my balls.

"Tease your nipples. I reckon you-"

Before I even finished his spare hand was under his shirt and pinching himself.

"God you complete slut." I whispered, and he moaned, throwing his head back and parting his thighs a little bit more. He stroked himself faster and kind of writhed.

"Now tell me what's in your head." I demanded.

"Thinking now dirty I am, now much I love it, being on display for you like this." he husked, then moaned again. His hips and bum clenched for a few strokes and then down again. His head tossed and his tongue came out to wet his beautiful lips. I crawled up his body and he whimpered at my closeness. I reached out and gently bit his bottom lip between my teeth. 

Oh Lordy, he arched up, gasping, and his fist went faster, and he moaned so low in his throat it was almost subsonic.

"You like pain." I announced.

"Yes John please..." he said in just a hot breathy whisper. So I bit him again and he shivered. "Oh please...please..."

"Faster." I demanded, keeping my teeth on his lip. I tasted blood and moaned. I sucked the blood from his lip and he whimpered. And then, when I crashed my lips to his and he sucked his own blood from my mouth he shuddered.

"Come for me Sherlock." I whispered and he made a small sound, arched, and came all over himself like a teenager.

Yeah, that worked as a distraction for me. Worked really REALLY well...

#


	11. ELEVEN

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John gets a new job, and swears a lot again.

CONDUCTOR OF LIGHT

CHAPTER ELEVEN

When I woke up I had no idea where I was, so deeply had I slept. Then it all came back to me. Jim, the powder, the sex, and Greg being all slutty for Mycroft. Awesome!

I wondered if I was nuts though because I could hear a violin. I followed the sound and saw Sherlock staring out the windows to the morning, playing on what could very well be a Stradifuckingvarius.

"Your pillow turned invisible, sorry." I said, and Sherlock went "FUCK!" and one of his violin strings went SPROINNNNNNGGGG. It was so fucking hilarious and I burst out laughing. 

"John!" Sherlock spat in my general direction. 

I said "Yeah, expecting some other invisible lover?" 

"My pillow...?" he said then, gently laying the violin back in its case. The curly broken spring bouncing made me giggle.

"My head must have been on it for a while. It will turn visible in three hours." I said. His stunning detectivey eyes slitted.

"You have done experiments?" 

"I have done little else." I said.

"Tell me." he demanded, and who am I to refuse that brilliant brain. So I told him all Greg and I had done, with the timing, the food, the fluids and body waste, the clothing. He nodded sagely, violin bow to his lips, which was quite distracting really, I was remembering where those sexy lips had been a few hours before.

"John, I have a few more experiments I would like to run. Will you let me?"

Okay, now why did that sound so sexy? And...dammit, I felt tears come to my eyes and the loungeroom went all wishy washy. He wanted to help. And fuckit, if anyone could, this man could. Fuck fuck fuck, kinky AND clever. How had I got so lucky? Oh come now, I deserved it cos hey, I am fucking awesome, but I still teared up like a pretty little princess. 

"What....what would you like to do?" I asked, gulping my tears down. Another great thing about being unseen, I could blubber like an idiot and be totes okay with that because nobody could see. 

"You say the pants you had on at the time this happened have not reappeared?"

"Not yet." I said, loving how the word 'pants' came from his distracting fucking perfect fucking lips.

"And you have not reappeared either..." he said, as of to himself. "Yet there seems a three hour window for everything else...except food...which you masticate...yes yes, perhaps...." he placed the now with the violin and threw himself onto the couch.

I left him to his musings and made a cup of tea. By now I was very spacially aware of my own hands and arms, my own body, and could make tea without an accident now. I made one for Sherlock too, and placed it on the coffee table in front of the couch. He was on his back, his hands under his chin. 

"Sherlock...." I said. He ignored me. I sat, sipped. He thought.

"Sherlock...." I tried again. He nodded. But he was really not here.

"Sherlock, I need to ask about Greg. Please."

"Oh he will be fine, Mycroft and I will leave him alone." Sherlock waved his hand dismissively. "There are plenty of others we can....ohhhh!" he sat up. "John! The others!"

"Eh?" I asked. I sure am clever yeah?

"John, the others, the fakers...work with me and we can take them down."

"What, why-"

"Not all of them are as magnanimous as Greg. Some of them charge great sums of money and produce false hopes. It is detestable, but we...you and I...we could debunk them together!"

"Erm..." I said. Yeah yeah, you guys probably caught on way before I did. "So....we work together, like a team?"

"Yes John, yes!" Sherlock floofed his hair up and laughed. "John, this will work! It will be marvellous! Don't you see?"

"Not really." I admitted. "But if you are thrilled I am thrilled." 

He stood and ran off to his room, calling "Disguise! I need a disguise!"

I laughed into my tea. Clearly my invisibility problem had taken a back seat but I didn't mind so much right then. His enthusiasm was catching. Plus...it was great working with Greg, but what Sherlock proposed had more excitement attached, and was perhaps more fulfilling. Also, I got to be with Sherlock. A major plus indeed, all love to Greg, but hello, Sherlock let me do stuff to him. Naughty stuff. 

I felt a weird kinda buzzing in my chest and realised it was adrenalin. Adrenalin for an adrenalin junkie like me was better than a big bottle of scotch and luudes for a major hit. God, yes, I was going into battle with Sherlock. Perhaps there would be danger and running. 

I grinned.

Oh yes. I felt I was standing on a building about to jump off and fly. The game, as they say, was a fucking foot...

#


End file.
